You're Late
by JoBethMegAmy. my homegirls
Summary: (one-shot.) Kate visits Gibbs at the holidays, and paints the wooden toys he's made for a local children's shelter, and he becomes more approachable in the process.


**A/N** : I've been trying for a while now to think of a way to write something Kibbs-ish that was also not entirely ooc. Then I re-watched the episode "Faith," where Gibbs' dad is visiting and learns that Gibbs makes wooden toys every Christmas for a local children's center and I wondered how that might've gone down differently if Kate had been there instead. So Merry Christmas in July!

Also, I was always really interested by Kate lightly chastising Gibbs for his lateness to her funeral. I felt like there should've been some kind of inside joke between them or something. So this addresses that as well.

* * *

 _You're late for my funeral, Gibbs_.

 **. . .**

"Are you just gonna stand there and stare, Agent Todd, or are you gonna come down?"

Kate clicked her tongue and headed down the stairs into Gibbs' basement. "This is getting unreal, Gibbs. Unreal and frightening. How on earth could you have possibly known that was me? I mean I know Abby's told me that you're all-knowing, but–"

He glanced up to look at her and nodded at an old television mounted on a shelf on the wall opposite the stairs. It wasn't on, offering a pretty clear reflection of the stairs, and Kate laughed to herself.

"Sorry to have just barged in, but your car was in the driveway and you weren't answering the door."

"Maybe for a reason," Gibbs muttered, turning back to his workspace.

"Happy holidays to you, too," Kate said.

For the first time, she realized what he was doing. She'd heard Gibbs was building a boat in his basement (and had planned to ask how he intended to remove it), but all she saw here was an assortment of wooden toys, only about half of which had been painted. Gibbs was sanding the wings of an airplane that was about a foot long. His eyes remained on his work as he spoke:

"You wanna tell me what's so important that you came busting in?"

"Oh. Well, as you might recall, I'm spending Christmas back home this year. My flight leaves tomorrow."

"I didn't peg you as the type who was sentimental enough to come over to say goodbye for the holidays."

"I'm not," Kate said flatly. "But I–I meant to give you this at work, and you took off before I could."

Gibbs glanced at the small package she was holding out. "What's that?"

"You were my Secret Santa. Technically I don't need to get this to you until Christmas Eve, but I thought I'd get it in a couple days early rather than mail it to you."

"Secret Santa," Gibbs grunted, as if merely saying the words was causing him physical pain. "They ought to make that like those lists solicitors are supposed to keep–the one you add your number to, and they won't call."

"Sure, only that rarely works."

"Yeah, well until this year, anyone who's ever gotten me for _Secret Santa_ has known better than to bother. And that _always_ works."

"You're really a grinch, aren't you?"

"Nope, I just don't need anything," Gibbs said with a shrug. "Presents on Christmas are for your loved ones - not for people whose name you drew out of a box at work. Loved ones, and uh… kids."

Kate pocketed the gift again, walking closer to the work table. "Is that what you're doing here?"

"Yep. Gives me something to occupy my time."

"Right. You're no Santa, you're a hobbyist," Kate said, and that got Gibbs to chuckle. "These for your neighbors' kids?"

"St. Anne's Center for Children." When Kate made no move to leave or say anything else, Gibbs said, "Well if you're gonna stay, at least make yourself useful. Abby tells me you're something of an artist." He kicked a stool in Kate's direction, and nodded at the paint kit on the table.

"You got a deadline?"

"Christmas Eve."

"You know, my mother used to always say that art can't be rushed."

"So don't rush."

Kate picked up a wooden car and studied it for a few moments. She wondered if Gibbs was aware of the types of high-tech gadgets kids were used to playing with these days, but figured that young enough child - especially one hit with hard times - would be able to entertain themselves with just about anything. And besides, these toys were very finely crafted - each one had a different look to it, and was smooth to the touch.

"How d'you get them to feel so smooth?"

"You interested in taking up woodwork, Kate?"

"Um–well, not particularly, but…"

He shrugged again. "If you have something you really want to ask, that's all right. But don't feel the need to make small talk."

Kate laughed uneasily, dipping a brush into some dark blue paint. "Silences have a tendency to make me uncomfortable."

"It's not silence. We've got music."

Technically this was true; a radio Kate hadn't located was softly playing some Perry Como. "You a Como fan?" she asked.

"Just a radio station. You can tune to just about anything and find holiday music this time of year."

"Yeah, I know." She laughed. "When I was a kid, my siblings and I loved this Christmas album cut by John Denver and the Muppets." She looked up, pleased, when that got a good-natured laugh out of Gibbs. "We would listen to it multiple times a day - drove my parents crazy. One year it somehow ended up in the driveway and my dad 'accidentally' ran it over. Last year my brother gave me the CD for Christmas. It was… it was nice."

She thought that might be it, that she might have to keep bringing up and answering her own questions. But after nearly a minute, Gibbs said, "My mom loved Bing Crosby." Kate smiled and was going to ask a follow-up, but suppressed it, waiting to see if Gibbs would volunteer more information on his own. After a short while: "Dad thought he looked like a bit of a sissy, but he owned up to liking the voice eventually. It was like he was a Christmas guest every year, ole Bing. Bing and Jimmy Stewart."

" _It's a Wonderful Life_?"

"Every year. They had a print they'd run down at the library."

"We were a _White Christmas_ sort of family."

"Oh, sure, I got dragged to a couple showings of that."

They lapsed into silence once again, although this one didn't feel nearly as awkward. Kate had heard from Ducky that Gibbs had lost his wife and only child many years ago. She imagined that had to make this time of year in particular extremely difficult to get through. _Presents are for loved ones._ She found herself wondering what sorts of gifts he would get for his wife. What hot new toy his daughter might have wanted. Or was he the type to make gifts for everybody? That seemed more fitting.

"Tools were my grandfather's," he said, maybe after about five minutes had passed with no words exchanged. "Farmer. They really don't make 'em like they used to - these things can cut through wood like it's butter."

"Wow. That's quite a … review."

"Mm-hm."

Kate had finished her police car and was about to paint an airplane green when Gibbs stopped her, looking almost sheepish. "I - that's supposed a T-45 Goshawk."

"…and?"

"And…so it's white, with red-tipped wings, nose, and tail."

"Oh," Kate said with a smile. "Pardon me, Michelangelo."

"Not Michelangelo. Just a marine."

"Sir, yes sir. My mistake."

They worked steadily for another hour and a half. Once Gibbs had finished refining his carvings, he picked up another paintbrush to help Kate. She supposed she oughtn't have been surprised by his light touch with paint; it looked smooth and professional - from a technical standpoint rather than an artistic one, she was sure he'd argue. Conversation intermittently cropped up, each with a natural start and finish.

When they were just about done, Kate asked, "Does that television work? Or is it like your landline over there?"

Gibbs chuckled at the fact that she had noticed the phone was unplugged and slightly beaten. "It's been out of commission for a while now. Just never bothered to fix it. Why d'you ask?"

"Oh, I just checked my TV guide earlier and it said they'd be showing _It's a Wonderful Life_ tonight. Thought it might be nice to have on while we finish up. You know, old times sake and all that."

"When's it start?"

"About five minutes."

"Hell, the TV upstairs works. We can–I can finish up tomorrow."

Kate's smile widened. "Are you inviting me to stay and watch a movie?"

He just scoffed, grinning as he walked around Kate and headed up the stairs. "You know damn well you invited yourself." When Kate reached the main floor, he was in the kitchen, and told her to set the TV to the right station. Just as the opening credits were starting, he brought out a huge bowl of popcorn.

"Did you make this yourself?"

"Yep. That microwave stuff'll kill ya," he said, setting the bowl on the coffee table and sitting on the unoccupied couch before getting right back to his feet. "Drink?"

"Got any diet black cherry soda back there?" Kate teased him.

"Just ran out," was his straight-faced response.

"What're you having?"

"Some root beer. Not made on the premises, I'm ashamed to say."

"I'd take some of that."

Though she was enjoying the film, Kate had forgotten how long it was, especially with commercials. With about half an hour of it remaining, she found herself dozing off. This was made easier by how cozy she felt: halfway through the movie, Gibbs had noticed she looked cold but too proud to say anything. On a commercial break, he'd gotten up from the couch and reappeared with four heavy blankets, dumping them at Kate's feet. With a slightly guilty look, Kate thanked him and pulled two of them over herself.

When she finally woke up, the TV was off and Gibbs was still sitting on the other couch, reading a newspaper.

"Oh, geez," she groaned, sitting up and stretching a bit. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Not sure when exactly you dozed off," Gibbs said, eyes still on the paper. "But considering I heard no tears from your direction, I'm going to assume it was before George found out his brother died."

"Please," Kate snorted. "The only time I cry in that movie is when we learn Mary's George-less fate was to become an old maid librarian."

"Yeah," Gibbs laughed. "I guess that wouldn't sit very well with you, would it?"

"Of course not. It implies Mary's only legitimate future involved her relationship. Why couldn't she still be vibrant and beautiful? Why didn't she marry Sam?"

"All good questions you can ask Frank Capra when you meet him on the other side."

Kate chuckled at that. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"Didn't wanna kick you out till you were ready to go," he said simply.

Her face softened. "Oh. Well, I guess I should be," Kate said, pulling the blankets off and getting to her feet. As she folded them, she said, "My flight's at ten and I still have a couple more things to pack."

"All right."

Gibbs closed the paper and stood up, walking Kate to the door. When he opened it, Kate gasped softly. "It snowed!"

"Just a bit while we were downstairs and during the movie, I guess."

"My…are you the one who cleared off my windshield and cleared a path in your driveway?"

He grinned and shrugged. "Eh, maybe it was Jack Frost."

"Jack Frost nips at noses. He doesn't do maintenance work." She glanced up, and again, her eyebrows rose in surprise. "Did Jack Frost put that there?"

Gibbs followed her gaze and scowled at the mistletoe which had been placed at the top of his doorframe. "Only if Jack Frost dresses like a goth scientist insistent on holiday cheer."

"You're not going to take it down?"

"Ah, Abby's going to come by and some point to check on her handiwork. If I take it down, I'm sure there'll be hell and a half to pay."

"Well, we wouldn't want that, would we?" Kate asked. She bit her lip, then stood on her toes and kissed Gibbs on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, Gibbs."

His expression was as difficult to read as ever, but Kate was sure she at least saw a hint of a smile in those bright blue eyes. "Merry Christmas, Agent Todd. And thank you for your assistance with the painting."

"Glad to help. I'm sorry I fell asleep on your couch."

"Hey. Rule number 6: Never apologize. It's a sign of weakness."

"Right," Kate laughed. "And falling asleep on your couch isn't a sign of some kind of weakness?"

"It's a sign of comfort. Means you're comfortable here. As…" He grit his teeth a bit, hoping he wasn't coming off as too forward. "As you should. I mean, as you should feel like… you should."

It was hard not to smile back when she grinned at him. "Really! Well so long as we're being friendly, take this." She handed him the small, wrapped Secret Santa. "You seem like an old-fashioned guy, Gibbs. Thought you should have one of these. It might help you make sure you keep that Christmas Eve deadline."

"I never miss deadlines, Kate. They keep me focused."

"You've never been late on anything, huh?"

"Not if I can help it. Not late on, not late for."

"I'm gonna keep that in mind," Kate laughed, heading to her car. "And you can bet I'll call you on it if I ever catch word that you're late. That gift should help you."

"What is it, a time bomb?" he asked. She just laughed and waved to him.

He went back inside and unwrapped the humble package. It was a pocket watch. A small note read, " _My next-door neighbor I had growing up makes watches. He'll send me one every now and then. I thought you might appreciate the handiwork. Merry Christmas."_

* * *

" _You're late for my funeral, Gibbs_."

…

"Sorry, Kate."


End file.
